


Wheel of Westeros Book Two: Rise of Daenerys Part Two

by Thrafrau (annmcbee)



Series: Wheel of Westeros [8]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:21:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21700870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annmcbee/pseuds/Thrafrau
Summary: Daenerys continues to be victorious in the Free Cities...and her treasury increases in size, making a some new plans possible. She enjoys a private moment with Victarion, until they are interrupted by a strange delivery from the North of Westeros.
Relationships: Daario Naharis/Daenerys Targaryen, Long Haul Jon/Daenerys, Victarion Greyjoy/Daenerys Targaryen, Young Griff/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: Wheel of Westeros [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1458574
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	Wheel of Westeros Book Two: Rise of Daenerys Part Two

**_The Wheel of Westeros_ **

**Book Two: Rise of Daenerys Part Two**

_Disclaimer:_

_This fan fiction is meant neither to be a continuation of George R. R. Martin’s_ A Song of Ice and Fire _series, nor a revision of seasons 6-8 of the HBO series,_ Game of Thrones _. It is meant to stand alone, independent of those works, and can be read alone by those who have not seen the TV series or read the books. Having said that, this work will borrow from not only_ Game of Thrones _and_ A Song of Ice and Fire, _but from multiple other works of film, television, music and literature. Please see footnotes for references, and feel free to point out any I’ve forgotten._

Chapter 1: Tyrion

If one were to ask him, Tyrion would say he hadn’t meant to overhear the Queen and Daario Naharis, but the truth was he had learned to take advantage of his light step when he moved around the pyramid, listening to whatever he could understand of the various languages whispered in its corridors. Dany had given him permission to call on her in her chambers – a privilege only her Dothraki ladies, Missandei, Naharis and Jorah Mormont shared with him. Her trust was his reward, not so much for his help with the siege of Yunkai and Astapor, but with what came after. _This victory,_ he heard Naharis saying through the door, _means you don’t have one other thing to prove._

Tyrion knew Dany would remain true to her vile new husband, currently at sea, though she had admitted she once loved Daario. She had gifted Naharis a new doublet, which he would rightly receive as a parting gift in honor of his new position. It was Yunkish yellow, with a dragon with tits embroidered across the chest in blue thread to match his beard. Dany had been joking when she gave the design idea to Shyrli, but it actually looked quite handsome. _A proper raiment,_ she had told the blue-bearded Captain, _for the steward of Yunkai._ That wasn’t what Daario wanted from her, Tyrion knew. His jealousy was becoming visible to the court, and Mormont suggested that was good reason to promote him to someplace far away, with which Tyrion agreed. But Dany had already made her plans. She was often a step ahead.

Tyrion cleared his throat and knocked.

“Go away!” Naharis’s voice rang out, followed by muffled scolding that obviously came from the Queen.

“Begging your pardon, my queen. It’s Tyrion…I was hoping we might have a look at the vault. Captain Rakharo seems to think there’s some…oh hello Captain. Congratulations to you!”

Naharis burst out of the door and breezed past him. “Hello and goodbye, little man,” he snorted as he stomped down the hall.

“Ignore him,” Dany said as she slid out the door into the hall with Tyrion. He noticed her lips weren’t painted but for the flush that could only be caused by the friction of kissing. Her fingers were bare as well, but Tyrion made no comment about either observance. She did still wear her funerary gown, her most modest garb. It was all black, and high-necked, with draping sleeves even longer than the skirt that flowed solemnly past the Queen’s toes. No flesh showed at all, other than her back, which she almost always left bare, displaying the red rope-like scars that were a badge of her survival. The damask fabric of the mourning gown was crusted with crystals of glass, opal and onyx all over. In the light, one could discern the shapes of horses dancing on a sea of grass, and dragons flying among swirling clouds. She wore this gown often, as the plague still lingered, and she had just recently lost two Dothraki workers and a bloodrider.

“Have the men managed to move the gold into the vault?” Dany asked, already walking down the hall in the direction of the great vault of the pyramid, where the wealth taken from the slave masters’ great estates was to be stored before being counted.

“Gold and silver and silks and gems as well, but Rakharo seemed a bit out of sorts when I spoke to him. From what I could understand, they may need more space,” Tyrion said.

“Is that possible?”

Tyrion supposed so, he told her, and it was a good thing. Astapor was now being rebuilt under the stewardship of Skahaz the Shavepate and his Brazen Beasts. Now that the plague had moved on from that place, it could function as a haven for the survivors, and Yunkai’s riches would serve nicely to fund the efforts. Yunkai was still burning, but most of its loot belonged to her now, though it had taken some time to move it. The great vault beneath the pyramid was a huge space – bigger that the audience chamber and the courtyard combined, and near as high as the pyramid itself from floor to ceiling. The stairwell down to it was ponderous, and Tyrion’s legs began to cramp painfully before they were a third of the way down.

“Hold my hand, my lord,” Dany said, “Tell me how the city looks…still at peace I trust?”

“Tenuously so, yes,” Tyrion said, appreciating the Queen’s effort to make the descent more comfortable for him. “You might be pleased to know that the merchants are enjoying quite the boon. It seems the end to slavery hasn’t emptied their pockets…quite the opposite. It seems if you can eat it, drink it, or lay with it, people are looking to buy it.”

“The plague,” Dany said.

“Indeed my most clever queen. No fear of any gods restrains them, as they judge it the same whether they worship them or not, since all alike are perishing, and no one expects to live long enough to need saved coin, so why not enjoy life a little while it lasts?”[1]

Dany sighed. In the light of the torches that lined the stairwell, he could see the faint bags beneath her eyes more clearly. He remembered suddenly how young she was. At times, her façade of fierceness seemed to wither ever so slightly. It was at those times that he had to steel himself, lest he fall in love with her, like so many who came to know her, to their peril.

When they finally reached the bottom of the steps, they were greeted by Rakharo, whose voice they heard barking orders in Dothraki as the cold, damp air enfolded them. Through the opening to the vault, they could see an enormous mountain of treasure. It was gold coins mostly, but amid the pile one could see cups, dishes, chains, candlesticks and other shiny things. They saw another Dothraki man slip and nearly tumble down the length as he attempted to dump another load on the top. There was a great clamor as he caught himself, an avalanche of gold, and then laughter. The pile was nearly to the ceiling, and comical as it was, a fall might actually be very dangerous.

“We need more places for this loot, Khaleesi,” Rakharo said. “This will not do.”

Dany tapped her chin thoughtfully with a finger but said nothing.

“There is another vault,” Tyrion said. “The one the dragons broke out of…then again we’ll have to seal it again. It’s much smaller, but…”

“Yes of course…Rakharo see to the repairs, won’t you?” Dany said.

Rakharo shook his head, making the tiny bells attached to his long braid jingle. “No Khaleesi…not enough!”

“Well is this at least half? How many estates does this represent?”

Rakharo held up a finger and smiled. “This…this is _one_ , Khaleesi. _One castle_.” He winked. “ _One_. I will go get repairs. You…” He pointed at Tyrion. “You find more room.”

After he walked away, Tyrion and the Queen stared at each other for a brief moment, mouths agape. Then they both turned again to the ocean of treasure.

“This is profit made on the backs of slaves. Ages and ages of trade conducted without having to pay a single copper to the workers who made it possible,” Dany said.

“There are twenty-five more estates,” Tyrion said, glancing up at her. “Twenty-five more mansions that could have this much or more…”

Dany lowered her arm, holding it out to Tyrion to take in his own stubby arm. He reached up and clasped her little wrist.

“This calls for a celebration,” the Queen said, the whip-like smile returning to her face.

“Wine does seem appropriate,” Tyrion said. “In fact, it will help me think of somewhere to store this…obscenity of wealth.”

“How about the pyramid…fill it to the brim,” Dany said.

Tyrion looked up to study her face. Her purple eyes were glittering. She smiled at him sweetly – a rare sight that always filled him with joy…even more than wine did.

“Are we moving?” Tyrion asked.

“We are.”

Chapter 2: Queen of the Free Cities

The noise of workers’ footsteps echoed in the floor below as the pyramid grew more and more empty. Dany’s ebony bench was among the last furniture left. It would stay in the pyramid with their stores of gold, and would remain when the entirety had been counted and either paid out to the host of workers, fighters and sailors currently under their commission, or saved to the Iron Bank. For now, Dany and Missandei sat upon the bench together, cross-legged, face-to-face as Dany read her letter to Griff out loud. At about this time, the Unsullied and the Bloodriders, and most of her ladies, would be just outside Volantis, to which Dany would soon follow on the back of Drogon, with his brothers flying beside them. Missandei and her other advisors would come along when the deal was complete, including Tyrion, who was overseeing the counting and movement of the treasury.

Griff had responded to Dany’s previous message as well as could be expected. He needed time to pray on her suggestion, and he had misgivings unrelated to her infertility to which Dany felt she needed to reply before going to Volantis, especially since Victarion was not around. Griff still loved her, he claimed, but he also needed to be able to rely on her, and he had heard some things which gave him pause.

_My Dearest Nephew Griff,_

_I am most thankful for your prompt reply to my letter, for which I waited with much anxiety. You have eased my mind, so allow me to ease yours._

_We are powerful people, my love, and those in power are always subject to rumors spread by our enemies. Surely the Lannister woman will say you are an imposter, and perhaps she will imply you are mad and murderous, the same as my enemies have implied about me. Ser Barristan will assure you when he arrives of my complete sanity. He should also dispel the lie that I murdered my brother and husband to make myself queen, that I am a liar and breaker of truces, and that I feed my dragons on human flesh. There is of course the tale that I lay with a hundred men a day, so insatiable I even lay with horses, for no man can satisfy me! That one does make me giggle, I admit, but my personal favorite is the story that I sacrifice virgins and bathe in their blood to soften my skin. **[2]** There is a rather raunchy new one involving sea monsters, which I find less amusing. My enemies are clever to spin such yarns!_

_My sweet kinsman, I will tell you the truth of how Viserys died. He died at the hands of my husband because he threatened my life, and I permitted it. I also killed the witch who murdered my husband, and I do swear that any who threatens your life will meet the same fate. I do not apologize for that._

_I have not forgotten furthermore that you are fighting a war for our kingdom, and I will not let you struggle alone. As it so happens, my treasury has expanded rather more than expected. I have purchased the services of the Storm Crows. They will sail to Dragonstone in a fortnight at my commission, and will hold it from threat by Cersei, as well as others that may threaten from the West, such as the Greyjoy prince, of whom you must be wary. Should the Storm Crows and the Golden Company fail you, my dragons and I will do what they could not. You need only send the word, but I know you will not fail. Cersei is weak, and you are the rightful king. Have faith in yourself, and in me._

_With love and devotion,_

_Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Free Cities, Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains_

“You write so beautifully, your grace!” Missandei said.

“All credit goes to Irri, sweetling. She taught me all I know of poetry in letters…”

As soon as the letter was on its way, Dany flew into the city on Drogon. The flight took only three hours altogether, to make a trip that on horse would have been several days. They stopped once to rest, for the wind in her face at such speeds became exhausting. Shyrli had smeared kohl over her eyelids and in spidery patterns under her eyes, knowing tears would smear it everywhere anyway. This way she looked frightening instead of pathetic. Shyrli had fashioned another dragon headdress similar to the one she wore all the time, but made to be aerodynamic. The horns turned backward down her neck, and instead of strings of pearls, her Dothraki stylist had fashioned a long train of beaded silk that trailed behind her like wings. Instead of strings of jewels in the front, there was attached a wooden visor that could be pulled down and lifted up on a hinge. By the time the city was in sight, Dany was breathless and dizzy from gulps of air and the thrill of speed.

She stopped again just outside the city and met with her ladies in a clearing where they waited, secret and safe, until Dany finalized the next move. Maebi and Shyrli took the robe she wore over her gown and dusted her face with blue mica until she looked like a ghost. They slid on finger jewels made of hematite curved into sickles, and dabbed berry juice on her lips to darken them. Dany’s gown had been made up especially in preparation for the stifling heat of the city. The material was dark crimson silk spun thin, completely sheer from neck to toe, a very delicate shirt of mail hanging beneath it, covering her private areas but also protecting her. Her back of course was completely bare, revealing her scars that grew redder in the humidity. She wore black polished boots instead of slippers, which just would have flown off while she was in the air. Their heels were very tall, which made Dany taller. They looked as though they could be used as weapons.

“You look like a monster, Khaleesi,” Maebi said fondly, gently touching Dany’s cheek. It was a compliment.

At last, they landed outside the Black Walls on the eastern district, inducing shouts of awe and cheers from crowds that had gathered. Her own armies stood between the entrance to the great labyrinth and a small crowd of slavers, whose shouts of dissent quickly grew quiet when the Dany appeared on Drogon with Viserion and Rhaegal coming up on either side. Jorah emerged from the ranks to greet her, and pointed to show her who was who. Those slave masters who remained living did cling to the last vestiges of the institution tenaciously, but there was more and more opportunity for a slave to be prosperous in their own right, if they could take the next step. The surviving masters would only be more trouble if Dany and Tyrion hadn’t come up with a plan for just such a transition. Thankfully, between Marwyn’s efforts in controlling the flux, and Victarion’s iron tentacle wrapped around Slaver’s Bay in the name of stopping its spread, the people of Volantis had begun to turn their hearts to Dany. After the utter defeat and destruction of the troops who marched on Mereen, the triarchs who had ruled the city had lost their grip. The Tiger Cloaks had turned their cloaks and now vowed to fight for Dany. Slave revolts were popping up not only in Volantis, but in Lys, Myr, and other places.

Belicho Staegone, a tall reed of a man with grey tufts of hair around his ears but not on his head, trembled as he bent to kiss Dany’s hand. Nyessos Vhassar, a fat man with curly black hair who had voted to go to war on Dany, only to be humbled completely, gritted his teeth, bowing curtly. Only the old crone known to some as the Widow of the Waterfront, and to others as Vogarro’s whore, looked utterly pleased to see her. The wizened old woman wore a purple silk robe that hung off her bones, and Dany worried she would trip over it when she shuffled over to embrace her. When they walked up to the entrance of the Palace of the Triachs, Dany clutched her bony arm tightly and helped her up the steps. They took their seats in an intimate room just off the audience chamber. Dany was flanked by a silent Jorah and the old Widow as the servants poured wine and brought bread and oil. Staegone spoke words of welcome, his voice shaking.

“Please my lord…there’s no need for you to be nervous. You have been a friend and ally. How could I mean you harm?” Dany said.

“I have no fear of that, radiant Queen. It is your terrible… beauty that frays my nerves. And that of your dragons…now, is it true you share their thoughts?” Staegone inquired.

“And feelings as well, my lord. What I love they love, and what I hate they do as well.”

“I pity the one who incurs such hatred, fearsome exquisite one.”

Dany saw Vhassar frown at that. A servant appeared with a satin pillow, atop which sat a strange object. Staegone picked it up gingerly and placed it in his palm, which he then held out to Dany. It appeared to be a small wheel cog made of green stone polished shiny. Dany took it from him and stroked its smoothness with her fingers.

“The jade cog grants you access to every door in the city,” Staegone said, gesturing grandly with a skinny arm, sounding less anxious. “Volantis, my queen, is yours.”

The Widow had her own servant produce a velvet sack, from which she drew a box made of ebony and balsam and embossed with gold. When she opened the lid and pressed a button, a tiny tiger made of blown glass popped up and a little song began to play as the tiger spun in a circle. When the song stopped, Dany pressed the button, and the song began again as the Widow explained how the music came from the plucking of tiny steel prongs by a rotating cylinder hidden inside.

“This is the Secret Box of the Holy Tiger. Only the great elders and triarchs of Volantis may possess it, but now you do, too,” the Widow said.

Dany set the box on the small table beside her, and when the song finished, she spoke.

“I don’t suppose I should expect any gifts from you Lord Vhassar.”

“I judge I’ve given enough, your highness. Frankly, I thought we would discuss business,” Vhassar said.

“Of course, my lord,” Dany said, and folded her hands in front of her. “As you know, I have taken control of your city, as I have other cities, in an effort to free the slaves. To ease the transition, especially for trepidatious slaves who struggle to envision a future for themselves as free men, my administration will pay the slaves for one year while they continue to serve their employers in their current capacity. If, at the end of one year of having their own wealth, the slaves wish to remain in their position, they may do so on a yearly contractual basis.”

“Quite fair,” Staegone said, nervous again.

Vhassar glared at him. “You might not say that if you knew what she plans to pay them. An exorbitant wage,” he said.

“What you would pay them would hardly feed and clothe them,” Dany said coldly, then pressed the button on the music box so that it began to play before Vhassar could reply. He waited a second before clearing his throat, his face reddening. Dany pressed the button to stop the music.

“I thought I should determine the wage for the services I require” Vhassar began. “I think a servant should earn according to the quality and dilig…”

Dany pressed the button on the music box again, so that its tune rang out over Vhassar’s voice. Dany stared into his eyes, and Vhassar grew red. He stood up and stomped to the other side of the room.

“I don’t see why I should waste any more of my time. This is a farce. An injustice…” he sputtered.

The music stopped. Dany stood and walked toward Vhassar slowly.

“Injustice, my lord? Do you have any idea how much wealth I’ve drawn from the estates of the masters of Yunkai and Mereen and Astapor? If one of your slaves lived a thousand years on the wage I’ve proposed for them, they’d still have almost nothing in comparison…”

She stood face to face with Vhassar now. He was much taller than she, as were most men, but rounder, and seemed to shrink at her voice as she continued.

“When I was a girl, living in exile with my brother, we had to scrape coppers together in any way we could. I remember one day, my brother found a single copper in an old doublet that he’d put on because the new one was wet. We both jumped for joy. For a copper. Our plans for the evening changed. Not drastically. We still ate hot barley mush for dinner…but we could feed a little friend that I played with as well.”

She walked back to the table and picked up the music box, holding it to her chest before returning to face Vhassar. “Lately I’ve thought how much a master of such wealth would have to find in order to enjoy that same excitement. They will never know that feeling. Finding a copper would simply annoy them. It means nothing to them. Do you know how much a master of Yunkai would have to pull out of an old doublet, to feel that joy?”

She waited for Vhassar to reply, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, she continued.

“First of all the idea that this man would have an _old_ doublet is preposterous. If he has an old doublet, it’s probably the one Aegon the Conqueror died in, and he wears it as a sleeping robe. Would you like to know what he has to find in that doublet to feel the joy my brother and I felt? Can you make this calculation? One copper is to mine and my brother’s worth at that time, as X is to what I took from _one mansion_. Close to sixty billion gold dragons worth. Cross multiply and solve for X.”[3]

“I didn’t realize your highness had such a head for numb…”

Dany pressed the button on the music box again. She let it play out while Vhassar stood with his nostrils flaring. When the song ended, Dany shut the box’s lid.

Staegone spoke laughingly in the background. “Why, your majesty, such an amount would needs be hauled in by ship…imagine finding such in a pocket!”

Dany returned to her place between Jorah and the Widow. “Count yourself lucky, Lord Vhassar, that you no longer have to provide food and clothing for them yourselves, and take care I don’t get an urge to change my mind about that,” she said sternly.

The Widow took her hand. She was surprisingly strong. Jorah grinned with pride.

Chapter 3: Victarion

The _Iron Victory_ was docked in the port of the Jade Sea at Volantis, where Victarion waited for Dany to arrive and “make an accounting.” They still kept their marriage a secret, though of course the rumors flew. When she finally rode up on her magnificent silver horse, Victarion was chagrined at the way his heart leapt in his chest. It had been nearly a month since he’d seen her last, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t managed to snare a woman to warm his bed in his travels, so it was not as if he’d been lacking for anything. There was no reason to get all a-flutter, but there was nothing he could do about it. He missed the Queen. He often caught himself thinking about her for no logical reason at all. But he made sure, as she dismounted and strode toward him with the Naathi girl and Mormont beside her, that the elation he felt did not show on his face. Nor did he display openly the satisfaction he felt when Dany dismissed Mormont and the girl, suggesting the old disgrace take the little one to the market and buy her some perfume or some silk for a new gown.

“Captain Greyjoy, I trust your ventures remain a success?” Dany asked formally, for they were still in view of the Volantene public.

“More than a success, your grace. Tell me, has the plague spread further?”

“Quite under control, thanks to you. Have you been able to…redirect many crossings of slavers successfully?”

“Redirected them all right,” Victarion bit back a smile. “Perhaps your grace would like a look at the ship’s log? Our inventory awaits your approval.”

“I will, thank you, Captain.”

They measured the timing of their steps as they boarded the _Iron Victory_ , and descended into Victarion’s private cabin. Once the door was shut firmly behind them, Victarion stood facing his queen.

“Tell me it’s done,” Victarion said.

“The Free Cities are free. Volantis is ours,” said Dany.

Finally, Victarion allowed himself to grin. He picked Dany up and tossed her into the air, catching her in his arms. She embraced him and laughed, and they kissed long and deep, their tongues wrestling passionately until they were quite out of breath. Victarion called for Moqorro, who breezed in with a couple of servant boys they had picked off a slave ship on route to Lys. They brought a basin and hot water and some soft towels, a basket of dried figs and sweet beets, and a carafe of sweet red wine.

“My dear queen, how wonderful is it to see you,” Moqorro gushed, kissing Dany gently on each cheek. She held out her fingers for the boys to remove her claws, and then began to remove the pins from her headdress.

“Yes, yes…off with you,” Victarion told them. “The Queen and I have business to attend to.” Moqorro’s over-exuberant fawning over Dany was a nuisance to him.

Once they were gone, Dany pulled off her headdress and set it on the table near the bed, shaking out her mop of soft hair that was the color of sunlight breaking through clouds. She sat on the bed and slid off her strange black riding boots.

“Ohhhhhh,” she moaned. “It feels good to have those off.”

“I’d like to have you off,” Victarion quipped. “But first you can tell me if it’s true about the loot. Are we really putting some in the Iron Bank? You know how I feel about banks.”

Dany popped a fig into her mouth and then began scrubbing her face with a hot wet cloth, slowly revealing her true face, which not many were privileged to see. She was just as beautiful – more beautiful – without the paint and powder, but without it, one could more plainly see her youth and softness. She was right in thinking it might make her seem vulnerable.

“I had to. Oh my love, if you could have seen how much there was, you’d forgive a bit going to the Bank. Elsewise I don’t know how we could protect it.”

“And who do we have handling this transaction?”

“How does it look?” Dany, trying to avoid the question probably, inquired about her face. Some black traces of kohl remained on her temple and cheek. Victarion took the cloth from her and wiped it away firmly, as his mother had sometimes done to him with some spit on her sleeve when he got mud on his face as a child.

“Who? Go on, tell me,” Victarion demanded.

“Lord Tyrion is my master of coin for now.”

“Gods, woman. That imp?” Victarion threw the cloth down angrily. “I can’t believe you employ him at all. How can you trust him? A Lannister.”

“He has yet to fail me…and where will he go if he betrays me. I’m his last hope of survival…you know that.”

Victarion fumed, but struggled for a reply. He could see almost every inch of her through that gown, he realized. “Next you’ll make a dung beetle your master at arms,” he huffed.

“No. A Grey Worm.”

That at least was a good fit. The dwarf disgusted Victarion, but despite being a eunuch, the Unsullied captain had proven among the bravest and fiercest fighters he had ever had the privilege to know. Victarion had grown to respect him quite a bit. It seemed a cock and balls weren’t needed to be a true warrior. In fact, it seemed they were a drawback. Even now, Victarion could feel his anger dissolving under a wave of desire. _Those perfect breasts! Those plump lips!_

“There’s something else I should tell you, my love,” Dany said then.

“Gods be good what now.”

“I’ve commissioned the Stormcrows to Westeros in aid of young Griff…”

“ _What_?”

This was too much. Victarion did not approve of Dany’s relations with this so-called Targaryen prince. The one who claimed to be Aegon wanted to wed her, but she was Victarion’s, and she would damn well remain so.

“Have you gone the way of your father? That should be our army!” At the mention of her father, Dany’s face grew stormy as it always did. Victarion stomped over and loomed over her. “Can you give me any reason why I shouldn’t sail across the Narrow Sea and dash the little prince’s brain in the way Gregor Clegane was supposed to have done?”

“Your brother won’t wait for slavery to end. He will ravish the Seven Kingdoms and then sail here when he’s done if Griff isn’t able to stop him.”

“So send them to Blazewater Bay and let them at him…for us, not Griff.”

“My love how would it look? Do you want to let on to Euron that we are husband and wife? In this way, I am simply aiding my flesh and blood in his war for the realm. If they happen to concentrate their efforts on Pyke, so be it. My help is my help. But for appearances they must land on Dragonstone first.”

Victarion felt foolish, which only made him angrier. “I’m of a mind to let them know you’re my wife. I’d like to see the look on the Crow’s Eye’s face. And the look on little Aegon’s face besides!”

He turned away from her, stomped over to the other side of the cabin, and stared out a porthole. The Jade Sea stared mockingly back at him. His tentacle reached out for the basin, still steaming, and flung it onto the floor.

“ _Sagon nykeēdrosa issa jorrāelagon_ …[4]” he heard Dany say.

Victarion closed his eyes and breathed deep. For some reason, the sound of Valyrian in the queen’s voice drove him wild with desire. He heard it all the time now, and barely understood a word of it. He knew the word for “slave” and “yes” and “no” and “stand down” or something like that. Most of it was gobbled-y gook to his ears, but the way it rolled off Dany’s tongue was like sorcery. Victarion hung his head, feeling himself harden.

“Speak it…” he said under his breath, and then louder, “ _Speak it! **[5]**”_

“ _Ipradagon issa ōghar…” **[6]**_

He felt her little hand running up his spine, and he spun around to face her. She looked up at him with those hypnotic purple eyes, and reached behind her neck to unclasp the chain that held her thin gown on her body. It slid off like wine rolling off the sides of a glass. Underneath was a tiny shirt of light mail, beneath which her nipples stood at pert attention.

“ _Nykeā oiro keli iksos va dēmalion_ …”[7]

“Yes…” Victarion breathed. He grasped the bottom of the mail and pulled it up over her head. Her skin was coated with a thin sheen of sweat from the ghastly heat. Her curves made his mouth water. He couldn’t tear off his tunic and boots and breeches fast enough.

“ _Nyke nykeā guēse_ …”[8]

Victarion pulled her to him and kissed her hard, running both hand and tentacle over her hips and behind. Their softness yielded to his touch. The queen brought up her leg and wrapped it around his. “ _Issa pungos iksos lēda hen āeksion_ …”[9]

Victarion picked her up and brought her to the bed, feeling her breast before putting it in his mouth and sucking it hard enough to raise a purple love bite. Dany cried out as he entered her, and Victarion thought, _damn her. Damn her._ Then he thought nothing at all.

When they had finished, they drank wine together naked on the bed. Victarion lay on his back, while Dany ran a finger from one mole on his broad chest to another on his rib cage to another on his taut belly.

“Myr…” Dany was saying. “Tyrosh…and Lys…”

It tickled and Victarion let out a coughing laugh. “Stop it,” he said, and pushed her little hand away.

She brought it back to lay it gently on his breast, and he clasped it in spite of himself. His tentacle involuntarily wriggled along her hip and buttocks, but Dany did not flinch. She never looked disgusted or frightened of it. He too had gotten used to her scars. He could even take her from behind now without going limp.

“What do you suppose the leaders of these cities would be willing to give to us for ending the dispute over the disputed lands?” Dany asked in a purring voice. “Slavery or peace…suppose they had that choice…”

Victarion snorted. “I never thought I’d love a clever woman,” he admitted.

“Why not?”

“Cleverness is as unattractive as a goiter in a woman, that’s why.”

Dany pouted, just as he hoped she would. He turned and opened the drawer of the night table and pulled out the tiny paper package that held the gift he’d picked up for her in Myr. He handed it to her, and her lilac eyes sparkled. When she opened it and saw the kraken-shaped earrings made of gold and rubies, they looked like to pop out of her head.

“Oh Victarion, my sweet husband,” she cooed. “I love them.”

She immediately placed them in her ears and then cocked her head flirtatiously. “How do they look?”

“Perfect for a queen of the seas…”

They kissed, and Victarion lowered her to the bed again, running a hand down her belly to her mound of soft silver pubic hair, but before he could roll on top of her, a noisy ruckus could be heard outside the cabin. A loud knock came at the door.

“Fuck off!” Victarion yelled.

“Sorry my king, but I’m afraid we have a situation.” It was his first mate, Nute the Barber, apparently back from his last run, and quite prematurely. Dany jumped up and reached for her mail and gown.

Victarion became furious. “Damn your situation. I’m bloody busy!” But Dany was already dressed.

“Someone had better be dying…” Victarion got dressed quickly and grabbed his sword before he went to the door and swung it open. “ _What the fuck_ ,” he growled.

“Your grace…I think you’d better come with me. It’s these slaves…from Westeros. They came from the North…and they refuse to go back.”

Victarion looked back at Dany, whose face now wore the look of queenly concern. “ _You stay abed_ …I’ll be right back,” he told her, though he knew perfectly well she would follow.

On the way to where the _Kraken’s Kiss_ was docked, Nute told Victarion what had happened when his crew attempted to return a slaver’s ship to the North in Westeros from whence it had come. Nute had dispatched the vile slave merchants who had taken them from Hardhome, but when they tried to board the ship and return it across the sea, the Wildling cargo boarded the _Kiss_ instead. They threatened a number of crew and servants at the points of their own swords, demanding to be taken to Volantis as they had been heading previously.

“Fuckin’ mystery if you ask me,” Nute spat. “Real fighters, too – a good part of them. Disarmed two of my best men. Could have taken out that shithead of a slave merchant ten times over, but didn’t even try.”

The ship was docked not far away, and sure enough, a huge pack of rough-looking human cargo, obviously Wildlings by their ragged suits of various furs, stood stubbornly on the deck. A few of them stood off ship on the dock, armed with whatever they had been able to grab on board: shards of broken pottery, hammers, a sword or two, boards with nails sticking out of them. They bore faces of terror mixed with madness and rage. There were a lot of women among them, and children too. _Why in Seven Hells would they want to be slaves?_

“Well what do you think sire?” Nute asked, looking at the surly bunch, thick arms crossed over his chest. “Should we just kill them? They are Wildlings after all. Personally I don’t feel right about letting them go back to the Kingdoms…the North is likely glad to be rid of them.”

Victarion knew what Dany would say to that. He was tempted to give Nute leave to shave them all with his axe, for they had killed two of his crew members after all. He was her husband, and queen or no, she should bend to his will some time. But she wouldn’t...she would fly into a rage if she found he had slaughtered any of the people she was insistent on saving. Victarion remembered Hizdahr Zo Loraq – his screams…the way his hair had lit up like a candle.

“Fuck this…” Victarion said. He marched up to where the group on the dock stood. “You lot! What is the meaning of this?”

A gaunt man with a shaggy yellow beard clutching a broken board spoke. “We won’t go back. We can stay here or you can kill us. But we won’t go back!”

Nute sidled up to Victarion and muttered in his ear. “You heard the man…sounds like permission to me. Let’s make short work of these savages!”

Victarion ignored him for the moment. “What do you mean you won’t go back? There’s nothing for you here…there’s barely enough work for the slaves we’ve freed, much less the slaves we’re just about to…what do you expect you’ll do here?”

“We can fight,” the Wildling man said.

“Oh sure…you fight so well you got nabbed by a slaver. Do your women fight too? Should we put swords in the little ones’ hands and set them on the Sons of the Harpy?”

“Our women fight as well as the men…and we came willingly.”

“Well that’s exactly what my queen and I want in our army…a bunch of savages who choose slavery willingly. Go on back to the North and die then…don’t do it here…”

A voice called out from somewhere within the bunch. “It’s worse than death what awaits us in the North…”

It was then that the Queen herself appeared at the mouth of the dock. She had pinned her headdress back on, and pulled Victarion’s own cloak over her gown. Victarion saw she was barefoot. Shaking his head, he went to meet her.

“This bodes ill for the public knowledge, my queen,” he said. “These Wildling savages threaten to make slavery look like a preference in full view of Volantis…”

Dany was frowning. She walked past him briskly to the crowd of Wildlings with a grim visage.

“Freefolk of the North,” she said. “Why do you wish to remain here, so far from your homeland? This is not the wild vast home you know. I understand that winter is coming, but…”

A strange female voice arose from the dock, high and gravelly. “Queen Daenerys! Mother of our salvation!”

“Who addresses me?” Dany asked. Victarion stood beside her, and readied his sword.

The crowd parted to let through a tiny woman, no bigger than child. She wore boots of white fur, and a dingy white fur frock, cinched in the middle with a brown leather belt, from which dangled a number of bags similar to wine skins. She wore a necklace made entirely of bones and teeth, a small skull in the center…perhaps a shadow cat’s. Her hands were exceedingly large for a woman with such a small frame, and she had an unusually long nose. Her eyes were as small as pinholes and twice as black, and her brown hair stood up on end, so thin that Victarion thought of dandelions when they go to seed. He thought if he gave a good blow, it would fly off her head and dance away in the wind. When she had made her way to the front of the group, she knelt in front of Dany.  
“Hail Queen Daenerys…our savior!” She looked behind her and screeched, “Kneel! Kneel for our lives!”

Little by little, the bunch of Wildlings got on their knees, their faces painfully humble. Victarion could scarcely believe it. He guffawed. “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing? The _Freefolk_ on their knees!” Was there no limit to this queen’s power to subdue the savage?

“Please, my lady,” Dany said, her voice gentle. “Rise and help me understand. Why do you offer your allegiance to a queen you do not know when I would offer you passage home?”

With difficulty, the old woman got to her feet again.

“My queen, our home is overrun by the army of the dead. The Others make their march…you are our only hope…”

Victarion snorted. So they were mad. Perhaps it would be best to let them all drown. “The Queen has no time for this lunacy,” he bellowed, but Dany put her hand on his arm and stepped in front of him.

“Who are you, my lady?” Dany asked.

“I am no lady, gracious queen,” the old woman said. “You may call me Mother. Mother Mole.”

[1] Thucydides. _The History of the Peloponnesian War._ Book 2:54. New York: Barnes & Noble Classics, 2006. (126).

[2] Martin, George R. R. _A Dance With Dragons_. Bantam, 2011. 321.

[3] Gulman, Gary. _In This Economy_. Comedy Central, December 8, 2012.

[4] Roughly: “Be still my love.”

[5] Crichton, Charles and John Cleese. _A Fish Called Wanda_. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 1988.

[6] Roughly: “Eat my hair.”

[7] Roughly: “A fat cat is on the throne.”

[8] Roughly: “I am a tree.”

[9] Roughly: “My nose is full of gold.”


End file.
